


Our Apartment - Aaron West & The Roaring Twenties

by miilkteeth



Series: Songs prompts [5]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, Yogscast
Genre: Divorce, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:06:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7386427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilkteeth/pseuds/miilkteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't stand our bed without you"</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoE2j_bM9xI</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Apartment - Aaron West & The Roaring Twenties

**Author's Note:**

> hey if you like pop punk, high rollers or hat films then you should follow my tumblr where you can also send me requests for future one shots (pls no smut i really can't write that shiz)
> 
> traashboaat.tumblr.com

Smith sat in the sad coffee shop with bags under his eyes that weighed him down and a messy, uncared for beard. He sat with some untouched tea in front of him, just watching the steam curl and fade away. When he got bored of that, his attention drifted to the outside world. There were too many happy looking couples for him to watch so he went back to the steam coming off his drink. Anything to keep his mind off the divorce. It wasn't working though.

He could still see their apartment in the middle of Bristol the way that it had been left. Their - his - bedroom with discarded clothes and broken picture frames littering the carpeted floor. Smith hadn't bothered to clean it, why should he? It wasn't like Ro- he wasn't around to appreciate it anymore and it wasn't like Smith slept in the bed. His only visitor had been Trott who'd yelled at him for being a "lazy piece of shit" who needed to "get his life together" because he couldn't "mope around forever". He still didn't clean the floor and left it all as a reminder. The kitchen was home to takeaway boxes that hadn't been cleaned or recycled, a full dishwasher that hand't been emptied, a full sink of dirty plates and a fridge of cold pizza. The "living" area had various numbers of divorce lawyers scattered on ripped up post-it notes.

While he was suffering, Smith thought Ross was probably carrying on with his normal life. Late into work, but smiling and looking smart as ever. He'd have a coffee in one hand - bitter like his personality - with a breakfast roll in the other, getting crumbs all over his desk and hastily wiping them away. At 1.15 he would put his coat on and head out down the road to the local coffee shop where he would've met Smith for lunch.

However today was different. Instead of seeing Ross at the coffee shop, Smith saw his sister. She ordered her drink and came to sit in front of him.

"How are you doing Smith?" she asked, putting her hand over his in a comforting gesture.

"Okay," he mumbled down into the tea and moving his hand away.

"I'm sorry he had to leave you like this, I don't know why. I like you, mum likes you, dad likes you," she sighed. "I don't know what he was thinking."

"He made it pretty clear, he didn't love me anymore," Smith bluntly remarked. "He said that he didn't think that we could work and we would have to go separate ways. That's it."

They were quiet for a bit, the sound of hot drinks being slurped filling the air every so often until she broke the silence. "He asked me to tell you that he's called his lawyers and he isn't coming back. He took all his things."

Smith just scoffed at the last part, "Yeah no shit. The room's a fucking tip from where he was rummaging through. I bet he got every last bit that was his."

"I know you're angry but ju-"

"No. You don't know. I love him and he left me in the middle of the fucking night without saying anything. Just a stupid, scrappy note on the pillow," he choked out, the threat of tears bursting out. He slammed the mug down and stormed out of the coffee shop and walked back to the empty apartment.

When he got there he slammed the door behind him, chucked his coat to the side and took a shower. The washing machine made the water cold but he didn't care, he was too exasperated to care. The shower looked bare without Ross' stuff in it.

After the shower, he dried off and ordered yet another takeaway to add to the throne of boxes in the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the note again. Every night he prayed he would forget what it said and something different would be written there. That he'd read it wrong, and Ross would be home in a few days, and he would see Smith, and they would kiss when they saw each other and, well, they'd be happy again. Taking the chance, Smith pulled the paper from under the pile of menus.

_"I'm sorry Alex, I didn't want to do this anymore. I used to love you so much but that's just gone. There's no spark anymore. I don't know what else to say but I can't do this anymore._

_\- Ross"_

He'd broke down crying after the first few times he read it. It was over. Their love was short lived for Ross but for Smith, it was nowhere near over. There was still an aching in his heart when he saw the empty side of the bed in the mornings so he started sleeping on the couch. The bed was too daunting now for him and it held too many bad memories for him to be able to stand being in. He knew that Ross was staying at his parents' in Swindon, far away from Bristol and Smith. That was what hurt the most. Ross couldn't even bare to be in the same  _area_ as him anymore. Smith felt like there was something more but he was too tired and fed up with the whole thing to care about the details.

The next morning, Smith found a pair of Ross' socks in the drawer. Maybe it could be an excuse to see him again? He'd drive to Swindon, turn up at Ross' parents, knock on the door and Ross would answer. Smith would give him the socks and Ross would thank him, invite him in for a drink and Smith would accept. They'd have something and then it would get so late that from them talking that they'd have to order some food. Then it would be too late for Smith to drive back so he'd stay with Ross in his room. And maybe, just maybe they'd manage to be a couple again.

All over a pair of socks. Yeah right.

Annoyed at his head for making up these stupid, delusional scenarios in his head, Smith left the socks and shut the drawer. He got dressed for the day, not bothering to shower and walked into the room where his makeshift bed was with the blanket still covering it. He rolled it up, tossing it to the side and flopped down onto the itchy fabric to watch crappy daytime TV. Reruns on Friends played on one of the comedy channels while on another Jeremy Kyle listened to dysfunctional family problems.

 _Put it this way,_ Smith thought to himself,  _your life isn't this bad._

He sat around for a few hours, until early evening, watching shitty TV and drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey until, once again, his eye caught the piece of paper he hadn't put away the day before. The note still sat on the table as a constant reminder that he wasn't good enough for Ross and their love was over. Smith kept getting more and more worked up over seeing it, he could feel the anger radiate off himself until he snapped, grabbed the paper, ripped it up, chucked it away and punched the nearest wall. His hand ached with the pain of colliding with the solid wall and he could see a slight indent where his fist had made the contact.

_Great, an even better reminder_ _._

Striding over to the kitchen, Smith grabbed some frozen peas out of the freezer and pressed them against his right fist, cradling it close to his body. He started to cry. The divorce and Ross leaving him hand't really hit. Not when he saw the note, not when Trott yelled at him for half an hour, not when he saw Ross' sister. Right then when he ripped up the note and punched the wall. It would bruise over time but, for a temporary solution, he got some gauze and wrapped up his knuckles. Still in pain, he managed to call Trott, who didn't pick up. Feeling like he needed to say  _something_ he left a message.

_"Hey Trott? It's Smith. You're not in right now but I feel like shit. I can't stop thinking about Ross and how much I miss him. I saw the note last night but I saw it again today and snapped. I ripped it up which is good right? I felt a bit better after that. But then I punched the wall. My knuckles really hurt and I have some frozen peas on them but it isn't numb yet._

_I guess I deserve the pain though. It's better than feeling empty from him leaving._

_You know, actually I saw a pair of his socks in my drawer this morning, yeah. I was gonna drive them up to him but that would be crazy. I had this bonkers idea that he'd fall in love with me again and realise how much he missed me but that's never going to happen. How could it? I'm some weirdo drunk who punches walls over their ex who doesn't love them anymore._

_His sister saw me yesterday and told me he isn't coming back. He'll probably find a nice guy and settle down, you know? Live out his dreams and be happy without me. But I'll be alone forever._

_You're probably busy with Katie. You're lucky. You found a nice girl to be with and you're happy. And I'm happy for you but also kinda sad because you have what I want. That doesn't matter though._

_I'm gonna go now. I feel a bit sick."_

Smith hung up the phone and ran to the bathroom, throwing up the small bit of food he'd had that day. He decided it would be best for him to go to sleep so he stumbled to his room for the first time in weeks and collapsed onto his bed in a drunken stupor, wishing that the faint smell of Ross was still there so he could at least be comforted in some way.

He couldn't stand the bed without him.


End file.
